Weird man

I could hardly describe the pleasure of finding my mailbox full of magazines, brochures and thick envelopes. It’s psychological mojo probably goes back in my childhood days, when I was expecting my Topolino subscription, a magazine that my mother managed to get for me with some crazy efforts and connections. For those of you who do not know, during those years — in our communist society — it was almost impossible to get barely any foreign magazine or newspaper unless you had connections, i.e. you knew people that knew people that could help. And only for some titles, because most western magazines and newspapers were tabu, forbidden for the masses. Actually I know cases when people went to jail just because they owned certain Time or Newsweek titles.

History. Bygone days.

I am subscribed to several magazines. Some I need professionally, for my work. These simply keep me connected. Some endorse my hobbies, passions and interests. Some are just junk. But all smell like printed paper. And there is nothing more personal and pleasing that sticking my nose inside a freshly-printed magazine, breath in and enjoy that. And do that when morning’s young, while having my coffee, trying to figure out what will this next day be like.

Now, am I not a weird man ?

 
 
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